


Guardian

by sastieljpg (ACometAppears)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/pseuds/sastieljpg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reverse!verse: Sam, an angel and warrior of God, gives up fighting to become a Guardian angel to Castiel, a human said to have particular significance in God's plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a series of posts on my tumblr - I had a request that this be posted on my ao3 for ease of following it. This story portrays Castiel as asexual, as well as being reverse!verse (Sam and Dean are angels, while Castiel is a human). Enjoy!! (sorry for any spelling errors)

Castiel never really found the time for relationships, or a family - or maybe he just never wanted one. Sure, he liked companionship, and he had friends, but he wasn’t really looking for anything more. He’d always been that way, for as long as he could remember. He’d much rather focus on his work, and his leisure activities, then get into a relationship with someone - well, at least a sexual relationship. It just wasn’t for him, he knew. People might judge him, or ask _why don’t you have a wife, Castiel?_ or _what are you, gay?_ but they just didn’t understand. He had his life just the way he liked it: his job was alright, he kept himself healthy, and busy - perhaps he was a little lonely, what with living on his own, and maybe it was kind of modest, but his life was … His. 

That was until Sam came to him. 

Easily mistaken for a man at a passing glance, but obviously anything but when spoken to at length, Sam had appeared at his door one evening. Castiel had been watching a nature documentary about birds of prey, idly listening to the storm outside. The weather had been pleasant enough all day, but about an hour ago, a horrendous storm had moved in completely unannounced, and enveloped the town: rain, hail, thunder and lightening had crashed all around his house, making him wonder how it hadn’t passed on by now. 

As lightening crashed, the lights in his house flickered, and his television reverted to static for a moment. Sighing quietly to himself in annoyance, Castiel got up from the couch, and went to go and check his computer for news about when the storm would be done. As he walked past his door, he noticed a great, looming figure in silhouette: he was visible outside Castiel’s front door, stock still, not knocking or saying anything.

Castiel approached the door carefully, and as he got closer, he could see through the stained glass: it was a man … Maybe. His eyes were looking curiously around at the detail of the doorway: not angry, or threatening. Just thoughtful. And, well, dripping wet.

Castiel was a Christian man. He thought for only a fleeting moment that it may not be wise to open the door to such a strange man, but disregarded the thought immediately, ashamed that he had even thought of it. The weather was truly awful - biblical, even - and who was he, to not help someone in need?

He opened the door, and stared up at the face of the man: he had shining hazel eyes and long hair, plastered to his face with rainwater - yet he didn’t flinch or blink when the water dripped and ran into his eyes. He was unshaven, and wearing casual (if sopping wet) clothes, but he held himself stiffly; formally, as if part of some procession of soldiers … Indeed, he did truly look like a soldier: he had a faraway look in his eyes, and a defensive demeanour. 

That changed as soon as he saw Castiel. 

He immediately dropped to one knee on the ground, bowing his head at the accountant. His posture emanated subservience and respect, and Castiel was so taken aback by the display that he wasn’t sure what to say. That didn’t turn out to be an issue, though - the man spoke first.  
"Castiel," He breathed, almost inaudibly. He continued, louder: "I have waited a long time to behold you,"  
"… I don’t - uh …" Castiel floundered awkwardly, not knowing how this man he’d never seen before knew his name; what exactly he was doing here. 

The man looked up, his eyes reverent, as he regarded Castiel’s confused expression.  
"… I will stand now, if that is permitted," The man told Castiel, who nodded cautiously, raising his eyebrows.  
"… Who are you?" Castiel asked hesitantly. The man half-smiled, and reached out a hand - slowly, reading Castiel’s face for any signs of alarm or fear - to grip Castiel’s shoulder. 

That was when Castiel felt it: the pervasive warmth, that spread from the man’s touch throughout his body; coursing through his veins in a way that was surprising and yet strangely welcome. He was taken aback, the feeling of the man’s innate power stunning him. He knew straight away that he wasn’t human - no, he was unearthly … He had to be holy, that his touch could make Castiel gasp and feel so indescribably euphoric. He was attracted to this man - this whatever he was - not sexually, or even romantically, he was just … Enthralled. Enraptured. 

Castiel was as in awe of the man, as the man was clearly in awe of him, for some unknown reason. 

"My name is Samuel - Sam. I am here to protect you. You are incredibly important in ways you cannot imagine," His voice was low, and slightly gravelly, as if disused. Castiel stared up single-mindedly into his eyes, seeing a softly glowing white light behind them that made him gasp, his mouth parted in shock.  
"You are my charge … I am your guardian angel, Castiel,"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a couple of months after the first.

Castiel is watching one of his nature documentaries, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Sam because the angel likes to be in contact with him at all times, and because it makes Castiel feel warm and happy - then Sam tenses up, and his eyes widen. He stands up suddenly, his angel blade dropping from the sleeve of his plaid shirt - Castiel looks alarmed for a moment and flinches, as Sam looks around the room apprehensively. He notices Castiel looks frightened, and crouches down slightly, lowering his weapon and saying in a calm yet urgent voice,  
"Get to the basement. Now," 

And when even Sam, the great grey-winged angel who was raised as a warrior, is scared, he knows something bad is happening. He bites his lip, his gaze lingering on Sam for a moment. The angel looks anguished, as he repeats, “Now, Castiel,” 

Castiel quickly stands, making his way to the basement door, looking back only once to where Sam is standing, looking out of the window with a look of concentration; his face is pinched with determination. He’s overwhelmed by the complete silence that follows, while he wishes repeatedly that he could do something, anything to help. 

Later, after Castiel has suffered a nervous wait for about half an hour, he ventures out of the cellar: he finds that his house is a little the worse for wear, with droplets of bright, shining blood on the linoleum, and a few on the walls. He’s more anxious about finding Sam, though - but he does soon enough, and finds the angel with bloody hands, wiping his sword off on his shirt. There are no bodies. 

"Demons," He says simply, his voice sober and troubled. "I couldn’t have them finding you," He finally looks up and at Castiel, who approaches him with a gaping mouth, and a look somewhere between thankfulness and concern. Sam looks back with that same reverent expression he wore when he first laid eyes on Castiel, as if he were the most important and the most lovely thing on earth, or in heaven.  
"Perhaps I shall teach you how to fight them, one day soon," Sam adds, realising how useless Castiel must have felt waiting for him to do all the fighting (though he’d rather have him completely out of harm’s way, obviously).  
"I’d like that a lot," Castiel replies with a shaky smile - the after-effect of all that excess adrenaline. 

Castiel reaches out to Sam, and he places his hand on Castiel’s shoulder; the familiar feeling of what he now knows to be the angel’s grace flowing through him acts as the ultimate comfort after thirty minutes of fear. The angel tilts his head forwards, and for an uncertain moment Castiel thinks he will kiss him - but he merely rests his forehead against Castiel’s, his eyes fluttering shut, as he breathes deeply. His large hand finds Castiel’s stubbly face, and cups it, as Castiel reaches to wrap his arms around the angel for stability and more of that soothing warmth. 

"Too close," Sam murmurs. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," He admits hesitantly, his voice smaller than the human has ever heard it.  
"Me neither," Castiel agrees, thinking about the numerous times Sam has defended him from before now. He certainly seems to be in more danger nowadays than before he met Sam - but then again, that’s why Sam was sent here. To protect him against the things to come. 

And whatever did come, they’d face it together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some detail on why Sam decided to become a Guardian after so many years of fighting :)

Sam decides to give up his role as a warrior and become a Guardian for a couple of reasons - one, Castiel is important, and needs protecting at all costs. Two, he prayed for companionship. Three, it’s in Sam’s nature to be caring.

The fourth reason is more complex: Sam has been a soldier all his life; a warrior of God, fighting evil alongside his brother for several millennia. But he’s always been more thoughtful and restless than Dean: he doesn’t want to rebel, but after so long as a warrior, he no longer wants to endlessly battle on, appearing to make no headway at all against the armies of demons they faced. No - he wants to do something that he can see is making a difference.

He’s not a bad son - he just needs to be true to himself, and his own caring nature. So, much to his Father’s dismay - Samuel is a brilliant warrior, second only to Dean - he volunteers to be a Guardian, and is assigned Castiel, to watch over and protect.

Months later, as he feels his mouth pull up at the sides - in a way that feels at once alien and organic, strange and wonderful - while he watches Castiel read aloud to him, he knows for certain he made the correct decision. He truly loves Castiel - and, in his own gentle, unique way, Castiel loves him, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as a parallel to the Pilot episode of Supernatural, set one year after the first chapter. Enjoy :)

That fateful night that things change, Sam is laying in Castiel’s bed, the human snuggled up to his side, as he stares up at the ceiling like he usually does. It’s effortless for him to stay completely still, not making a sound, with his arm wrapped protectively around his charge. All is well; all is calm. 

Then he tenses, his chest heaving in utter shock and fear for Castiel. He sits up suddenly, panting - when did his response to fear become so similar to that of a human? - his eyes are wide, and his heart is racing. There is an angel downstairs. 

Now, he used to fight alongside angels - but he also used to fight them, too. Not all angels were good.  
He leaves the room on foot, locking it behind him with a thought: the human can unlock it from the inside if he wishes, but Sam talked him into installing the lock anyway, for safety. Not that a door can shield him: luckily, Sam has carved enochian sigils into it, protecting the occupant from harm. 

He transports himself downstairs quickly with the sound of his wings fluttering: the first thing he notices is the size and shape of the other angel’s wings, as large as his own, and a similar shape. He’s already unsheathed his angel blade, as Sam has. 

"Brother?" The angel calls to him, stepping from the shadows of Castiel’s living room and into the moonlight that floods into the room unbidden through the window.  
"… Dean," He replies, a lump suddenly forming in his throat. 

It has been four years since he’s seen his brother. Sure, he’s not always been visible, or made himself known to Castiel that whole time - but he spent a good while studying his charge before appearing to him, having made sure he wouldn’t do anything that would discomfort or alarm him. 

Four years is barely the blink of an eye to beings as old as them. But … Well, having been at Dean’s side since he was very first created - Dean had been a better parent than their Father ever had been, he thought, perhaps a little blasphemously - he certainly missed him during their separation. A lot. 

"Hey, little brother," Dean replies, grinning at him. Dean was always better at summoning his bravado than he was, though Sam has gotten good at seeing through it, regardless of what Dean looked like at the time.  
"You couldn’t have visited?" Sam asks quietly, not wanting to wake Castiel, if he hasn’t already.  
"… Father had me in pretty deep with the war," Dean replies, his cocky expression faltering for a moment. Sam notices that haunted look in his eyes, before he covers it up. He shifts slightly where he stands. 

Then, they both go for it at the same time, in synchrony just like old times - they hug, clinging to one another tightly, and though it’s limited - human flesh never did allow for the type or the level of intimacy that angels usually sought from one another - it goes a little way to bridging the gap that grew between them when Sam left to be a Guardian, and Dean was unable to contact him. 

"Sam?" Both angels turn around at the sleepy sounding voice. They both sheath their weapons in the presence of Castiel (it is abhorrent to even consider making someone important in their Father’s plan feel threatened in that way). Dean goes for the same greeting as Sam had, when he’d first met Castiel officially: he goes down on one knee briefly and bows his head, but unlike Sam, doesn’t await permission to rise. 

"Castiel … This is my brother, Dean," Sam tells his charge, reaching out to touch Castiel on the shoulder, and convey those sentiments of _it’s okay, I’ve got you, he’s on our side, you’re safe_ that he needs to put across. Castiel gives him a small smile, which Sam returns - and his brother can see the extent of Sam’s puppy-love for Castiel, even if his face isn’t expressive enough for the human to catch it. 

He brings it up later, when Sam has told Castiel he can go back to bed.  
"You’re in love with that human," Dean observes. Sam shifts slightly, his face suddenly looking anxious, and his eyes widening.  
"I …" He’s unsure how to finish that sentence. Dean raises an eyebrow at him. "… Did not mean to," He finishes, sounding defeated, and looking down at his feet.  
"There is nothing wrong with being close to your charge, as a Guardian - but, Sammy-" Sam looks up at that, anguish in his eyes with the sheer weight of how much he missed that nickname in the time they were apart. “- they are not always important in Father’s plan in a way that will bring them happiness … Please, don’t get too close,” 

Sam nods once, not making any promises he can’t keep. 

"Listen," Dean says, changing the topic, "I need you. Father has given us a job,"  
"I am a Guardian now, Dean," Sam tells him; he sounds as if he’s chastising his brother.  
"He specifically requested you accompany me,"  
"Surely you can do whatever task he has set for you alone," Sam replies with an annoyed sigh. He must have picked that up from Castiel, he realises.  
"Perhaps I can. But I don’t want to," Dean seeks eye contact with his brother, who eventually gives it to him. Sam sighs, again, but this time in acquiescence:  
"How long?"  
"A couple of days, at most," Dean tells him, trying not to sound too excited that his brother is considering joining him once more, albeit temporarily. 

Sam bites his lip, and looks at the stairs that Castiel had used to leave the room a short while ago. 

"Where we are going, he can’t follow, Sammy," Dean breaks the news gently to his brother, who looks away from the stairs, and at the floor. He takes a deep breath, and nods once.  
"One moment please," 

He reappears upstairs, Castiel having left his door unlocked for him, in a show of trust that makes Sam’s grace quiver and dance inside of him. He strides into the bedroom, and sits carefully down on Castiel’s side of the bed, watching him sleep with a slight smile or adoration.  
"Castiel," He breathes, but the human doesn’t rouse - that’s okay, he didn’t mean to wake him, anyway. He brushes his hand through the human’s hair, and smooths it down his face, cupping his cheek and shutting his eyes. 

_Castiel_ , he thinks, projecting his thoughts into Castiel’s dreams, _I must go with my brother. I promise, I shall be back on the anniversary of our meeting on Monday. I will come back for you, Castiel. Always._

Of course, by the time he does come back, it’s too late.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuous from the end of the last chapter.

By the time Sam comes back, it’s too late. 

The angel returns to Castiel’s suburban home in the early hours, and it’s surrounded by people. A small crowd has gathered behind police tape, dressed in their pyjamas; they point, and whisper amongst themselves. Sam frowns, a hideous sinking feeling causing his grave to quiver and twist as he looks at the front door of the dwelling he’s learned to call home: the door is ajar, and splintered, as if kicked in.   
His eyes are wide, and his nostrils flare, as he makes himself invisible to the gossiping neighbourhood. 

He steps through the front door, and finds people taking photographs of Castiel’s belongings. Why would they be interested in Castiel’s possessions? They are just things. They are nothing, really. 

But he bristles all the same. As a Guardian, he feels violated on Castiel’s behalf: he wouldn’t want his charge seeing this; seeing them interfering with his home, and his things, while he is absent. Which again hammers home the question of where he is, if not here to defend his home from these intruders. 

Sam knows, has learned, that the police are on the side of the human general public - but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to not lash out at them, demanding to know what’s going on immediately; not to force them out, and away from this place he now feels is sacred. 

He notices droplets of blood on the floor: low velocity, in a drip pattern. He feels a sudden rush of what a human might call dizziness accost him: he puts a hand out to steady himself against the wall of the kitchen, frowning and shutting his eyes in concentration; he forces the feeling to subside, for Castiel.

Someone was beaten here. There are drag patterns in the blood - there isn’t gallons of it, but it’s nothing to be dismissed, either. Sam follows the blood from the kitchen into the living room: he notices the shoes Castiel wears for work, discarded in haste - why, he doesn’t know. He frowns, feeling his breath come quicker. No, this was all wrong - Castiel takes his shoes off upstairs. He keeps them upstairs. Why are they not upstairs? 

The feeling that all this is incredibly wrong and unholy intensifies, as he follows the smear of blood through the living room, where it abruptly stops. Castiel’s possessions are strewn haphazardly around the room: one the coffee table’s legs is broken; Castiel’s books are lying open and torn-up on the floor, some of them are dipped in the human’s blood. 

Castiel’s books in Castiel’s blood. 

It’s an awful thought, and he drops to his knees beside where the trail of blood stops … Someone transported him away suddenly, or - or the police already - what if they touched Castiel’s body?

He didn’t feel the human die - he truly believes he would have felt it if he-

Then Sam is crying before he knows it, leaking fear and heartbreak from his eyes; his lip is quivering, and he bites it in an effort to remain impassive that is too little, too late. 

"Sir?" 

Sam’s head snaps up, looking up at a startled yet not unkind police officer. She seems concerned and alarmed that he’s there. He eyes her with suspicion - did you take him? Did you take Castiel away? 

"What happened?" He asks, his voice incredibly low and strained, with the weight of the emotion he’s feeling. And, well - isn’t that a turn-out. They - his Father, his brothers and sisters - told him he would never be able to experience emotions, to the same level as a human - that he was different, but … Well, here he is.   
"He was abducted, we think. Neighbour spotted the open door, heard fighting … There was, uh - there was no body," She tells him in a gentle voice. Sam just stares at her. 

No body. He was right - Castiel hadn’t died. He’d been taken. 

It’s like a fresh wound, scathing to his already fragile grace, which he can feel squirming and crying out inside of him. It’s taking him substantial energy, he realises, not to blind this woman by letting it seep from his eyes. 

"How did you get in here?" A male officer shouts, appearing from the kitchen and yelling at Sam. The angel stands up, and looks at him blankly. "You’re the guy, aren’t you? The guy who lives here, with him?" The man’s eyes narrow, and Sam interprets the situation as not particularly favourable for himself. He doesn’t really care, though. "You can’t be here - in fact, you’re a suspect. You’re under arrest for the murder of-"

Sam disappears with the sound of ruffling feathers. It isn’t murder - in fact, Castiel isn’t dead. He knows it now. There are few clues to his whereabouts, but Sam will find him - he’ll start by asking Dean if his timing was deliberate, to allow this to happen … He doesn’t want that to be true, but he’s slowly realising that it makes sense.

He will spend all of his remaining days on it, if he must - it is worth it, for the human that he loves, whose soul he wishes to see or touch (just once more, if that’s all he can get). He cannot leave him in the hands of people who wish to harm him - truthfully, he would rather die. 

He will lay down his honour, and his grace, and even his life for his human. He will not lose his charge.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuous after the end of the last chapter.

Dean usually hangs out at human drinking establishments when he’s not away on missions from their Father, or in too deep fighting the thousands upon thousands of demons that wished to overcome them. He enjoys drinking humans under the table for fun, Sam understands. 

Sam appears, and before Dean can even greet him or properly acknowledge his presence, Sam’s grabs him by this jacket and transports them outside, to the alley behind the building. He does not wish for the human patrons of the bar to see this. 

He shoves his brother against the grimy wall, draws his angel blade, and holds it an inch from his his throat. Sam’s eyes are burning bright with grace, and wide with anger.His nostrils flare, and his breath comes harsh and quick with his rage. 

"Sam, what the-!" Dean yells at him, but Sam shouts over him:   
"You knew, didn’t you?" His voice is raw with emotion.   
"Knew what?"   
"Don’t!" he shouts again, before repeating in a lower, more dangerous voice: "… Just, don’t," Dean spots unshed tears in Sam’s eyes, and wonders if they’re due to anger alone.   
"… What happened, Sam?" He asks in a quiet, low voice. Sam can hear the fear behind it - but whether it’s for him or of him, he doesn’t know.   
"… They took - someone t-took Castiel, while I was gone," He tells his brother, his voice threatening to crack under the strain. His looks at the floor as he says it, still holding Dean firm. "… While I was away with you," He adds, his voice accusatory as he looks back into his brother’s eyes.   
"Sam - I didn’t know," Dean tries to convince him, his face horrified at the revelation. He knew other Guardian angels who lost their charges … They fell apart, without them. They felt obsolete, and they could rarely be of any use after. He knew them. He didn’t know them anymore, because they were gone. 

He couldn’t have that happen to Sam. He wouldn’t let it. 

"I’m sorry this happened … I’m so sorry, Sammy," 

Sam shifts in his position, his eyes locked onto Deans, searching for any trace of a lie there; any deception at all. But when he hears that last nickname, his blade shakes in his grasp, and he feels his grace drop so low he can feel it wallowing somewhere around his toes. 

He sags, lowering the blade from his brother’s throat as his arms limply drop to his sides. He falls forwards, Dean catching him, as his knees bend slightly; Dean holds him up, as he plants his head against his brother’s chest, and sobs openly, yet quietly. To Dean, these emotions his brother is experiencing are completely strange, and alien: his brother had been around Castiel for only four years - only one of which the human had known he was there - and he’s been so affected by him, formed such a spiritual connection to him … Fallen so deeply in love with his charge, that he’s started to exhibit these tortuous feelings that humans so often show. 

It’s still Sammy, clearly: the same caring little brother, strange even amongst angels, for having too much heart. It’s just Sam, amplified. He doesn’t care, though - even when the others tell him Sam is no good, and bound to rebel or fall, he doesn’t listen to them. He would do anything for the little brother he practically raised. 

He rubs his brother’s back, slotting one hand between Sam’s shoulder-blades, while ever-so-carefully caressing one of the wings only he could see with the other. Sam freezes up for a moment, before shivering all over. His sobs lessen gradually, as Dean rests his chin on his head, and sighs, closing his eyes against the novel grief that seeing his brother this way is causing him. 

"It’s okay, Sammy … We’ll find him,"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a week after the last chapter.

'Hoards' is an understatement of the amount of demons that are guarding Castiel. It seems they figured he would be important, if he had a Guardian angel - but also that said Guardian was going to try and come and get him at once point. 

They were right. 

Sam has left Dean behind, fighting the crowds of demons that surrounded them, encouraging him to go on and find his charge. Sam bites his lip, wasting precious seconds looking into Dean’s eyes in fear for his brother. But when Dean yells to him to leave once more, he doesn’t need telling again. 

So now, he stands in front of a door he knows Castiel is behind: it’s warded, though, with enochian sigils. The demons that had captured him were smart, and brutal, by all accounts - Dean had tracked down many low-level ones, torturing them to obtain Castiel’s location for Sam. Eventually, one of them had broken. Sam had been pleased just because it meant Castiel was alive, at the time. 

He isn’t so sure about now, though. 

He takes his angel blade, and slashes deep into the sigils that line the door to invalidate them: he knows Dean might let a few demons past by accident; some of them might be along soon, so he has to act fast. When the door doesn’t feel searing hot to the touch, he kicks it down, rushing into the room recklessly fast. 

He feels his grace practically scream, a high-pitched noise whiting out his hearing for a moment, as he notices Castiel shackled to a nearby wall. He rushes towards him; notices with fear and anguish how he hangs limply from the wall; how he’s strewn with cuts, and bruises, and how the bones in his legs stick out at uneven angles beneath his skin. At least one of his arms is dislocated, but they still support his weight, as his legs are useless. 

To stop him from running away, Sam realises, pure rage threatening to overtake his mind for a moment. He ignores it, biting his lip, and pressing two fingers to his charge’s throat: usually, he would be able to tell immediately if Castiel was alive - but his grace is quaking, overwhelmed with these human-like emotions. Besides - if it’s even there, Castiel’s life-force is so weak at this point that it would be nearly impossible to sense. 

A week. A whole week or torture, to a human, would have the same affect as a century of torture for an angel. Sam had suffered torture, behind enemy lines … He feels tears well in his eyes, as he presses his finger against Castiel’s carotid artery.  
Nothing. He feels nothing. 

Then, a beat. A second one. A third. 

He could weep for joy, despite the slowness of the pulse, because Castiel is alive. He survived - Sam’s charge, the human he loves, lives. He actually hears a brief gasp of hysterical laughter escape his own mouth, unbidden. 

He goes to unlock Castiel’s wrists from the walls, only to retract his hands, as if they’ve been burnt - more enochian sigils. They’d warden his bindings, going to all possible lengths to stop Sam from getting to them. Sam narrows his eyes, examining the shackles closely, and realising that the brackets that hold them to the wall aren’t warded. He smirks slightly, thinking to himself, this will have to do. 

He wrenches the brackets from the wall, and allows Castiel to fall gently into his arms. He makes no indication that he will wake; Sam doesn’t want to waste any time in leaving this hideous place, and although healing Castiel could hardly be considered a waste, he knows he has to be swift. 

He gathers the human into his arms in a fashion he’s seen used by human couples who are newly married - it is appropriate, as Castiel seems to behave towards Sam in the same way that a human might behave towards their significant other. Of course, he is not fond of physical intimacy other than gentle touches (he thoroughly enjoys Sam flooding him with his grace), but it is not important, to either of them. All that matters is that they have each other for love, comfort, and company. 

If Sam loses that now, after finding it only a year ago … He cannot bear to be without it anymore, he thinks. He cannot go back to being a soldier after this. 

Sam carries Castiel away, smoothing his hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. They make it almost all the way to the door before Sam is accosted: a man appears in the doorway, throwing out a hand towards them. He appears ordinary, but Sam can see his demonic soul writhing within his host’s body, intensely evil to such a degree that even Sam is wary. 

Sam’s knees buckle, and it is all he can do to let Castiel gently roll to the floor, rather than drop him. He falls forwards, his palms against the floor, as a pain the likes of which he hasn’t experienced since being tortured behind enemy lines all those years ago floods his body. His grace feels as if it is being squeezed, compressed - strangled. 

He looks up in horror at his attacker, who smirks: his eyes roll back into his head, revealing pure white.  
"Alastair," He grits out, tasting blood on his lips along with the three syllables that spelled disaster for him. He is strangely glad, in a way, that Dean isn’t in his place right now - this particular demon has a history with his brother.  
"Sammy," Alastair replies with glee, gesturing with one hand, causing Sam’s hand to involuntarily discard his angel blade, which skitters across the floor. The demon tuts, grabbing Sam by the arms and slamming him into the nearest wall. He snakes one hand around Sam’s neck, and his touch is like searing ice, simultaneously unbearably hot and cold at once. Sam’s grace, sapped by touching so many enochian sigils in such a short period of time, is unable to throw him off at all. 

"Did you come to take what’s mine, boy?" Alastair asks, cocking his head to one side; his face is so close that Sam can smell the scent of blood on his breath.  
"He’s - m-mine!" Sam growls, his attempts to throw the demon off futile and animalistic. He needs him off now, his touch alone is the most disgusting, degrading, awful thing an angel can experience.  
"Not anymore," Alastair replies with a smug smile. "I would love to keep you around, Sammy, but that brother of yours is causing me enough trouble as it is. Can’t have him after me - so I guess I’ll just have to send you back upstairs," He croons.  
"N-no!" Sam pleads, struggling against Alastair’s iron grip. 

The demon reaches forward with his free hand, placing it with deliberate slowness and intimacy onto Sam’s forehead, making his skin crawl. But if he thinks he’s in pain at that moment, it only worsens when the demon begins his chanting.  
The spell that will send Sam back to heaven is one of the most painful things an angel can experience, aside from damage to their wings - which can only be done under specific circumstances, anyway. It’s akin to their grace being ripped from their form, and left raw and bleeding to the mercy of the other angels in heaven. Not all of them are as fond of Sam as Dean is. 

If Sam gets sent back to heaven, he may not be trusted with Castiel’s life ever again. If he is sent there, he may end up there permanently, regarded as damaged goods. 

Sam grunts in pain, his eyes squeezing shut, as his teeth grit painfully. He can’t help it, though, when one particular phrase of the spell pulls at his grace, scathingly strong, and almost rips it in two. He screams, the horrific sound reverberating around the torture chamber. Alastair smirks.  
His smirk is long gone, though, when he feels his Achilles tendon severed suddenly. He stumbles and falls to the floor in shock, releasing Sam, who slumps to the floor. The dazed angel shakes his head, wishing away the indescribable pain he is in on the inside, and looking around for his saviour. 

Of course, it is Castiel. He’s slumped on the floor, angel blade in hand: his blood-caked face is wrenched in determination, and he’s panting with the effort he put into cutting Alastair’s ankle. Sam knows that the demon cannot stand now, and silently thanks Castiel for summoning the strength to wake up, think of this plan, and follow through on it. 

Sam has witnessed miracles - he has even caused a couple of them in his time. This, however … This is just Castiel. The weight and intensity of Castiel’s love for him, defying all odds, allowing him to power to defend his Guardian angel, in the same way he himself has been defended so many times before.  
The demon snarls, and wisely decides to smoke out, given that his vessel is largely useless to him now. Sam stumbles forwards, scooping Castiel up once more, and folding his shaking wings around him. Castiel sighs, his eyes shutting in relief, as he’s embraced by the angel. Sam presses his forehead to Castiel’s once more, as he holds the human in his arms - awake, and very much alive. 

"Thank you, Castiel," He whispers to him, his voice low with emotional strain, and cracking halfway through. He genuinely believed that he was about to lose his charge, and possibly his life, only moments ago.  
"Your wings," Castiel whispers, after opening his eyes very slightly, and focussing them on a point just behind Sam’s shoulders with a faint smile. Sam frowns, not understanding, before Castiel finishes: "I can see them," 

Sam wonders if Castiel is hallucinating, or if they have truly reached the level of intimacy, of love, whereby he could actually glimpse that part of Sam. He supposes he will have to wait and find out. He will find out soon enough, though - he hopes it’s the latter option, so completely devoted to Castiel that all he wishes is for the human to see at least a fraction of his true form. 

And, with that statement, Castiel passes out. Sam smiles softly, tears of relief gathering in his eyes. He takes a moment to use what Castiel had termed ‘angel radio’ to communicate with Dean, and let him know he has Castiel, injured by salvageable, and he is free to escape. He thanks him profusely, too. 

Then, with the last of the strength his weak yet euphoric grace affords him, he takes them home.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel's screams reverberate around his house, causing Sam to flinch. His eyes squeeze shut, and he bites his lip, as his grace twists within him. It senses Castiel's pain, and experiences it as his own. 

But the pain is one Castiel must suffer: he requires the bones of his legs reset in multiple places, or they will never heal correctly. Despite knowing this, Sam cannot bring himself to inflict any more pain on his charge - he is, after all, the human Sam is supposed to protect . . . The one who saved his life. 

The one who he loves, and who he hopes loves him back. 

So, he requested that Dean heal Castiel, at least from those wounds. He'd had trouble asking, his words stuttered and shameful to speak - what kind of Guardian cannot heal their charge unflinchingly, unquestioningly? - but Dean had understood. Dean always understood, unlike his other brothers, who may have ridiculed him for his request.   
For Dean knows what it was to love. Perhaps not a human . . . But he experienced love, for his brother. Sam knows that the two of them would never be happy to hurt one another, even if it was required so they may be healed. It would be like torture . . . Indeed, they had experienced it before, during their millennia fighting alongside one another. It was not something either one wished to experience - so, Dean had understood his request, and had nodded wordlessly upon hearing it. 

The screams cease gradually, reduced to small groans of pain from upstairs. Sam is sitting rigidly on the couch, his hands on his knees, and his back totally straight. He is trying valiantly to relax, and watch the television - Dean suggested he try it as a distraction from what he was about to do to his charge. It hadn't worked: Sam's grace, bound to Castiel's soul, it seemed, was screaming at him to jump up, to go to Castiel's side; to strike down whoever was hurting him without a moment's thought, simply for daring to touch his human. 

But he can't because it is Dean, and because Castiel needs help. So his eyes stare, unseeing, at the television, as he waits for the deed to be done. 

He looks up when Dean appears, his muscles still tense, and not daring to move from his position until he hears what his brother has to say about the healing.   
"He's safe . . . I'm going to investigate this, okay? I'll find out what happened, Sammy," He tells his brother solemnly. Sam nods once, staring up into Dean's eyes, still. He feels like he did when he was smaller - barely a fledgling - being taken in by Dean, and trained slightly more sympathetically than his Father perhaps would have liked. Maybe that was why he'd turned out so caring, while his brothers and sisters had turned out much more brutal that him. 

But Dean never did learn how to break bad news properly. 

"He's . . . Well, he's shaken," Dean tells Sam carefully. "He still looks pretty bad, and I, uh - I ran out of juice after his legs, and the relocation. Gotta save some up to get back to heaven, and see what the hell is going on up there," Dean is talking mainly to himself at this point, his head turned away from Sam, staring out of the window with a haunted expression. 

Sam nods again, his expression carefully placid, and unchanging. Dean can see it, though - that inner turmoil his brother had to learn to hide after years at the front, seeing his siblings mown down in front of him. It is the same face he got whenever war, which was supposed to be glorious, turned out to be hellish, senseless violence. 

He wears it again now, his love for Castiel turning out to just bring him pain. But under it all, Dean knows Sam won't let it put him off; he knows Sam can't just stop loving Castiel now, even knowing he is fragile, and can be hurt. 

"Goodbye, brother," Dean mutters, turning to leave via the door.   
"Dean," Sam breathes, standing up and catching his brother's wrist in his hand. Dean pauses, looking into his brother's concerned, tired face. ". . . Thank you," He tells him. The two words are heartfelt, draining - Dean can't say anything but,   
"Sorry - Sammy . . . I'm so sorry this happened," 

Sam's grip tightens on Dean's wrist. "It was my fault. For leaving him," He tells his brother. He leaves little room for argument, but Dean tries his best to dissuade him:   
"It wasn't," Dean denies, "It was them. Those sons of bitches . . . We'll find them. I'll kill them," 

The side of Sam's lip quirks upwards for a fraction of a second: he's just glad he still has Dean on his side. 

"Thank you," He repeats, and lets go of Dean's arm. The other angel makes short work of walking away, leaving Sam to his charge. Sam steels himself against what he knows Castiel will look like, battered and broken on the bed . . . He closes his eyes, and appears at his bedroom door, knocking three times. 

He hears a voice muffled by exhaustion and pain grant him entry, before slipping inside, and shutting the door behind him. He turns around. 

He's glad to see Castiel's bruised legs no longer sticking out at awkward angles, making him feel queasy just to behold them; to no longer see one arm hanging uselessly at his side, his shoulder dislocated. However, the many, many cuts and bruises that adorn his face, torso and legs dishearten Sam, making his lip quiver as he moves carefully towards his charge, afraid that any sudden movement could break him, like glass shattering at too high a frequency. 

"Castiel?" He asks, his voice full of pain as he regards the human he loves. The man shifts slightly, letting a hoarse moan slip from between his lips as the movement jars his sensitive joints and recently-healed bones. 

"N-no . . . Please-" He begs, his head tossing to one side away from Sam.   
"It's me, Castiel. It's Sam," The angel all but pleads with him, sitting down on the bed beside him. Castiel's eyes crack open, sliding over to Sam.   
And, despite everything, he manages a small smile, looking relieved and oddly content. 

"Told - told me you were dead," Castiel whispers. Sam carefully takes one of his hands, watching for signals of Castiel's discomfort. When he finds none, he presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, and begins his own healing process.   
"No, Castiel," He replies, loving to be able to say the human's name to him again, after having been so fearful that he would never be able to again. "They lied . . . They cannot hurt you anymore,"   
He brushes his gentle hands over the wounds on Castiel's arms, causing him to shudder as grace seeped into them; his eyes roll beneath their lids, not witnessing how the skin knits together beneath Sam's fingertips, or the way that his skin tone evens out once more, back to the way it was meant to be. Sam ever-so-carefully strokes his hand down the side of Castiel's face, as if he is made of porcelain. He ensures that he makes no sudden movements, as he strokes his thumbs under Castiel's eyes, wiping away the bruises as if they are finger-paint. 

"Didn't say anything," Castiel promises, his eyes opening slightly, as Sam starts to stroke his hands smoothly across the human's chest, healing his cuts and bruises there, too. He proceeds to do the same with the rest of the skin of Castiel's body, mending and fixing, pushing his grace to the limit to put the human at ease and make him well again - at least in his body if not in his mind. 

"That was very brave of you," Sam replies, sounding prouder than perhaps he ought to, "But I do not require your protection,"   
"You did . . . Back there," Castiel points out, shutting his eyes once more and sighing in contentment, as Sam's comfortingly warm touch graces each of his legs in turn. Sam smiles slightly.   
"Indeed - thank you, Castiel," He replies earnestly.   
"What was he going to do?" Castiel opens his eyes once more, a troubled frown contorting his exhausted features.   
"Send me back to heaven . . . A painful process - it may have resulted in my being unable to return to you," He explains shortly, leaving out the full extent of the complete agony he had suffered at Alastair's hands. Castiel has enough of that to deal with for himself.   
"I'm glad I stabbed him," Castiel tells Sam, a hint of humour in his tired voice. Sam looks him in the eye with another of those proud smiles that makes the human's heartbeat speed up, and his pupils dilate.   
"Me too,"   
Sam finishes up, his work mainly done, bar a few lighter scratches that he simply doesn't have the strength to heal right now. He moves to stand up, but feels a weak grip on his arm that makes him pause, looking back to the bed.   
"You need your rest, Castiel," He tells the human. Castiel bites his lip, anguish in his eyes.   
"I know - I know, but I - I don't want to be-" He chokes then, sounding so completely broken that Sam's grace almost breaks in half, too. ". . . I don't want to be alone - please, Sam - please stay," He pleads.   
The angel cannot say no. Nor does he want to. 

So he pulls the comforter over Castiel, placing an extra blanket on top - Castiel is wearing only his boxers, and he doesn't want him to be cold - before climbing into bed with him. He allows Castiel to arrange them, as usual - deciding whose arms should go where, what position is most comfortable to him, how close they should be - and finds that he clings closer than usual to his Guardian angel, needing Sam's arms to be around him, clutching tightly as if they're never going to let go. 

"I love you, Sam," The human tells him, already half-asleep, in a voice laced with fatigue and relief.   
". . . I love you too, Castiel," Sam replies. He would usually stare at the ceiling all night at this point, lying in vigil beside Castiel, and protecting him. But now, he feels his watering eyes close against his will, his tired grace demanding to be recuperated with a night's rest, as a human's soul might recharge with sleep, too.   
Things are not completely right. But they will get better.


	9. Chapter 9

It takes weeks for Castiel to feel well again. 

Sure, Sam's back at full power within a day, and he heals the human fully - but some things just can't be healed. At least, not without a substantial amount of time. 

Castiel takes to sitting rigidly on the couch as they watch their evening movie or television programme: he fails to fall into Sam's arms as usual during the viewing; his eyes are glazed over, looking at the screen, but not quite following the action on it. 

Sam wonders if it is something to do with him. 

Perhaps he sits too close - maybe he demands too much of Castiel. He automatically climbs into bed with the human when he goes to bed, and they embrace as usual, with his arms protectively around him. What if Castiel perceives that gesture as a choke-hold? What if he has been smothering Castiel, who is too scared to say no to his love, his advances? 

Three weeks pass. Another evening of silence and bitten-back sighs; worried eyes and nightmares, undoubtedly, for the human. Another few hours of worried glances from the Guardian. In the past, when he and Castiel weren't so close, he would have brought the subject up unflinchingly. But perhaps he is too proud, now, as Lucifer had been proud. 

Perhaps he is too ashamed, now, as Adam and Eve were ashamed. 

"Castiel," He addresses his charge, who sits at arm's length from him. The human turns his head from the television, which is showing some reality television garbage that is much beneath him. He looks as if he has been woken from sleep, or roused from some deep, immersive thoughts. Whatever the case, Sam has his attention now.  
". . . You sit for away from me now," Sam points out, his words falling dumbly from his mouth. He feels childish complaining in this way, but he cannot help it.  
"I - I don't-" Castiel gulps, and gathers himself. "I don't mean to,"  
"Would you prefer if I - if I stayed further away while you sleep?" Sam asks, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice.

With all the time Castiel has had off work - his bosses at the firm heard that he had been abducted for a week (though they didn't know the extent of the damage Castiel had sustained) and granted him as much time off as he required - he has been spending almost every waking second with Sam at his side. 

Is it too much? 

"No!" Castiel refused, his eyes growing wide in horror. Sam sees a hint of betrayal in them, and flinches at the prospect of having hurt his charge's feelings. "No, please - you help keep the nightmares away," He points out, and Sam nods. Castiel has been suffering nightmares that makes him shake and shudder, groan and scream - Sam has to prevent him from flailing most nights, smoothing a soothing hand over his forehead and banishing the vicious images with murmured enochian he knows Castiel won't understand. 

Sam is just repeating the same things Dean told him as a fledgling, when his grace felt twisted and sour, and he could not see past the wrong in his Father's creation. When small, angels are allowed at least a hint of doubt, it seems. Dean put him back on track, though - just as Sam would put Castiel at ease now. 

"I . . . I do love you, Sam," Castiel reminds him.  
"And I you, Castiel," Sam replies reflexively, though completely truthfully, with a smile that his concern creeps into uninvited. 

Castiel pauses for a moment, frowning, and turning to face Sam completely. The angel's eyes are so large and curious, tracking his every facial twitch and expression, that it makes it hard for him to articulate. 

"I like having you in my bed," He clarifies, pausing for a moment before continuing: "That isn't to say I want to, um . . . Because I don't want to, uh-" Castiel gestures vaguely with his hands, his face screwing up in his uncertainty about how to phrase what he's trying to tell Sam. "I - I enjoy our intimacy . . . But I don't want to take it further - that is to say, I don't wish to - to have-"  
"You do not wish to have intercourse," Sam finished for him, his face blank and completely unperturbed by the news. Letting his hands drop to his lap, Castiel nods with an ashamed expression that Sam sees no need for.  
"I do not remain at your side to pursue a sexual relationship with you, Castiel," Sam tells him, reaching out and taking him by the hand. Castiel grips the offered hand tightly, as Sam places his other hand on top of it. "I adore you, for who you are - I . . . Used to love you because you are part of my Father's plan, but I . . . I find that I find yet more things to become fond of about you every day," 

"So you don't want to either . . . ?" Castiel asks tentatively.  
"No, I do not," Sam replies. Castiel smiles ruefully, and responds:  
"Is it because of your Father's stance on man lying with man?" Sam chuckles at that, removing one of his hands and bringing Castiel's hand up to his face, to kiss his knuckles.  
"My Father does not care - his followers feel a lot more strongly on it than he does," Sam tells him. Castiel smiles, feeling tiny bursts of warmth and pleasure erupt where Sam kissed his hand. The angel lowers their hands again, still keeping hold of Castiel, as his face grows troubled once more. 

". . . I sense that is not all that is bothering you," 

Castiel pales, wishing to turn away - but Sam is holding him fast, not letting him bury his emotions anymore; letting him know, _you can do this. You can speak to me. It's okay._

"It's just . . . This place," He mumbles, casting a baleful gaze around the living room and into the kitchen, which had both long since been cleaned up after the abduction. Sam can still see the droplets of blood and the smashed possessions and the drag-marks in his mind's eye, though - and he knows Castiel can, too. 

"When I walk into my own kitchen - when I go in there, I - I think, 'there's where they hit me on the head'," He points as he speaks with his free hand, as the grip of his other hand gradually grows tighter and tighter. "There's where I fell to the ground - there's where a tried to crawl away-" His breath is coming faster, as he points to a counter he had tried to hide behind. "There's where they started k-kicking me in the ribs - in the f-face, and - and th-there's where they started d-dragging me, pulling me along, and h-here-" He pointed to a spot, right in front of the television, ". . . Here's where they broke my legs, then t-took me away," His voice grew softer towards the end, and he stuttered more frequently. 

He bit his lip, and stared down at the patch of carpet where he'd been most savagely beaten. 

"Castiel?" Sam whispers to him, trying to attract his attention. It takes several times before the human responds, looking up at him with shining, watery eyes. ". . . We do not have to sit in here," Sam tells him, bringing up a hand to stroke Castiel's cheek with his thumb; to brush away the one solitary tear the human has shed outside his nightmares for weeks. "We do not even have to live here, anymore,"  
"But where will we go?" Castiel asks, his voice small and child-like. Sam smiles at him, and answers:  
"Wherever we want - anywhere you'd like, Castiel,"  
"B-but what about work? A-and - my - my mortgage? And-"  
"Shh," Sam tells him, before he works himself up into a worried frenzy. "I will take care of it - you will still be able to work, if you'd like. We wouldn't have to move too far - I will find somewhere, if it's your will," 

Castiel swallows convulsively a few times, blinking back tears, as he wonders at how lucky he is to have the Guardian angel in his life. Sam places one hand on his shoulder, that now well-known gesture that means safety, protection, and love filling him with happiness, as Sam's grace works to help him get back to being the person he was before the abduction and torture he suffered. 

It's Castiel this time, though, who moves closer to press his forehead into Sam's. 

"I - I'd like that," He tells his Guardian, who sighs contentedly at the contact. "I'd like that a lot,"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this a little while ago, but then got sidetracked with the end of the semester and writing Assassin, blah blah blah. Anyway, here's another chapter, focussing on the repercussions Sam faces from his superiors and peers after accidentally allowing Castiel to be captured. Enjoy!!

Castiel can’t say what it was that made him certain something was wrong right away - he just _knows_. 

Sam was summoned to a meeting with his superiors about his abduction, six months after the fact. Castiel supposes that heaven is an admin nightmare - the firm he works at an accountant for is bad enough, and it only employs a few thousand people - which is why they only just got around to it. 

The first Castiel had heard of it was when Sam had asked to borrow one of Castiel’s suits: Castiel had smiled, and asked what for, leading to a conversation in which Sam had explained to him that he needed to tell them what had happened to his charge. It sounded a lot like a trial, to Castiel - but he wasn’t sure how it worked in heaven, so he couldn’t say. All he knew was that Sam combed his hair that morning, and discarded the plaid shirt, t-shirt and boots he perpetually wore. Well - usually, anyway. 

He’d had to explain to his Guardian angel when the topic first came up that suits came in different sizes: they varied with the size of the person. He’d offered to take Sam suit shopping, and the angel had agreed. That had to be one of the strangest outings they’d ever been on - and that was _including_ the trip to the pool. 

They managed to find a suit that fit Sam, in the end - though not without him loudly complaining about the unnecessary discrepancy between his vessel’s shoulder and waist size, and how he wished he could have been destined to take a vessel that was easier to shop for. Though highly amusing, Castiel had to remind him of the presence of humans who didn’t know about angels, to make him be quiet. 

The hassle was worth it, to see Sam in his suit: he was extremely attractive, the human thought. He felt strangely proud of him: he’d found Sam beautiful before, but he did even more so now. Yet again, he found himself marvelling at the fact that the angel was _his_. He loved Castiel, and protected him with his life; Castiel loved him back, and was happy that he got the chance to do so. He was happy he even got the chance to _know_ Sam, let alone have him as a long-term companion. 

Castiel was still in the dark about why he needed a suit, though. He clearly wanted to look good, and smart - though it made Castiel wonder if angels’ vessels were even visible in heaven. _They must be_ , he concluded, as Sam squeezed his shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly, before leaving. 

"Sam?" 

The angel had appeared in the kitchen hours later, his hands on the counter, staring out of the window. Though to the untrained eye he looked expressionless and peaceful, Castiel knew at a glance that something was very, _very_ wrong. His hands on the counter-top were tense, the fingers bent into claws as hard and tough as concrete. His stance was rigid, as if he was afraid to move. 

"Sam? … How did it go?" 

Castiel approached from the living room - they’d recently moved to a house with a more open-plan layout, meaning when Sam had arrived, he’d noticed immediately - but Sam didn’t turn to greet him. He remained stood still, his face not yet visible to the human. Castiel swallowed, when no reply was forthcoming. 

"Please - talk to me, Sam," Castiel requested gently, coming up beside him, and placing his hands down on the counter top next to the angel’s; one of his hands approached one of Sam’s, but didn’t touch it. He wasn’t sure it would be okay. 

Sam flinched away from him slightly as he came up beside him, causing Castiel’s eyes to widen, and his mouth to drop open with shock and confusion: he’d never seen Sam so closed off. He looked up at the angel’s face, which was blank and impassive - aside from his eyes. They were large, and full of fear, failing to fall into line with the stony mask that the rest of his features portrayed. 

"Dean defended me," He eventually muttered, continuing to stare out of the window, though his eyes tracked nothing; remained unfocussed.   
"… From what?"   
"He was there, he defended me from them … From - from my superiors,"   
"They attacked you?" Castiel asked, shocked.   
"No," Sam replied softly, looking down at Castiel for the first time. He gave him a watery smile, before looking down at their hands on the counter top. "… They accused me of leaving you without due cause, an offence which is punishable by exile from Earth … Being sent back to heaven,"   
"But you were needed!" Castiel defended him. Sam nodded, smiling a little again at the thought of Castiel sticking up for him - a tiny human, fighting for the truth on the behalf of a being as large and timeless as the sea.   
"He told them - he showed up, and told them our Father needed me. They accepted it, though they … They clearly still wished to punish me,"   
"But they didn’t?" Castiel asked hopefully.   
"Not exactly," The angel replied vaguely, looking out of the window again. Frowning, Castiel reached up to take Sam’s face in a gentle hand, and turn it towards him.   
"Sam," He asserted, though gently. "You need to tell me what happened … You’re shaking, Sam," He added. The angel looked from Castiel’s blue eyes to his own hand on the counter top, and then back at the eyes. It was true. "We should sit," The human told him. 

Sam nodded mutely, and allowed himself to be led by the hand to the couch. A place of comfort, of security - they’d spoken much on that particular piece of furniture, and Sam realised he would have to confess what had happened on it, too.

He took a deep breath, and sat down slowly. He flinched as he sat, the muscles of his back pulling tightly, causing him to hiss. Castiel’s alarmed look was the only thing keeping him from letting his pain out to its full extent; from crying out, and letting tears spring from his eyes. 

"You’re injured," Castiel realised, looking Sam up and down. His suit wasn’t damaged - perhaps a little more dishevelled than before - but he didn’t appear outwardly to be injured. "… Somehow," 

Sam nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and steeling himself visibly. 

"Do you recall," He began in a low voice, "Being told that angels may only be hurt using a spell, an angel blade, or by somehow managing to injure their wings?"   
Castiel nodded, feeling queasy. Slowly, Sam reached into the suit’s jacket, watched closely by the human the whole time. He pulled out seven gunmetal grey feathers, as long as Castiel’s forearm. His eyes widened.   
"Are - are they-?!"  
"They are mine, Castiel," He confirmed, with a short nod. Castiel held his sad, defeated gaze for a moment, before looking down at the feathers. They shone, sleek and enticing; iridescent like petrol when they caught the light in the right way. They looked soft - Castiel just wanted to reach out, and-

Sam held them out, inviting the human: “Touch them,” Castiel’s eyes widened still, and he bit his lip, hesitating. Sam smiled softly, despite his pain, “Do not be   
afraid, Castiel. I would not ask if you would like to do so if it would be in some way detrimental to either of us,” 

Castiel nodded, and took one of them in his hands, plucking it gently from Sam’s fist. It was softer than he’d ever imagined - but the bone-like section down the centre was hard like metal, though it was translucent. 

"I thought - I thought I couldn’t see your wings," Castiel said reverently.   
"You can see the feathers once they have been … Shorn," He picked the last word carefully, but it didn’t prevent him from flinching.   
"What happened, Sam?" Castiel asked once more, as he set the feather down in his lap. Sam placed the rest of them on the coffee table, staring at them with an awful expression of defeat and submission that made Castiel’s heart break. 

“My superiors desired to punish me,” He sighed, pausing for a moment to gather his strength, “. . . They were not the only ones,”   
“Who would want to see you punished? Haven’t you suffered enough, seeing me . . . Seeing me like that?” Castiel asked angrily, frustrated that no one understood the dynamic between them. When Castiel was hurt, Sam was hurt – and vice versa, as he was beginning to find out. The fact he’d had to leave Castiel, which had resulted in the human being injured, weighed on Sam as if he were Atlas, and the weight of his failure was the sky. 

“You must understand, Castiel,” Sam told him, gently reaching up to take his face in his hands; the familiar tingle of grace seeped through Castiel, starting from where their skin touched, before spreading out through his body. But it was less effective than usual – perhaps because Sam was weak, or because his malaise was much greater than usual. “There are angels who do not believe I was right to reveal myself to you. They believe I should have kept my distance, so that we would not be as . . . Close, as we are,” He dropped his hands from the human’s face, and set them in his lap. He stared at them as he spoke.   
“Are Guardians not supposed to appear to their charges?” Castiel asked, confused. Sam gave him a small smile.   
“Not usually, no – but it is not forbidden. Just . . . Frowned upon,” He explained. “. . . But I felt so drawn to you. I watched you for three years before I appeared to you – I think I loved you before you even knew I existed. It is true that all Guardians love their charges unconditionally, but I felt – I just felt-”

Castiel reached forward and took his hands again, squeezing them in encouragement. He felt his eyes well up with tears: whether they were tears of joy at Sam’s emotional declaration of his love, or tears of sadness at that fact that his Guardian angel was in pain, he couldn’t say. 

“A few of the other Guardians who came to hear the result of my meeting with my superiors cornered me – they told me that I did not deserve the leniency I had been given. They said I was a disgrace to their entire kind, and they wished to give me a . . . _Reminder_ , that I should never leave you again, no matter what the consequences,”   
“The feathers?” Castiel asked, feeling sick. Sam nodded, looking at the parts of himself splayed out across the table. “. . . Are you okay – will you be okay? . . . Can I – can I help at all?” Castiel stammered, concerned and scared for Sam. The angel just looked so . . . Drained. He looked pasty where he usually looked tanned and healthy; his posture was stiff and uptight, where usually it was as relaxed as could be - while still maintaining an air of protectiveness and alertness, for the sake of his charge. 

“I . . . I will be fine, Castiel. I simply need a few days to recuperate. But I will still be able to perform my duties of protection,” He assured him, focussing on how it would affect his task of guarding Castiel.   
“I don’t care about me, Sam,” The human chided gently, “I care about you . . . So, how can I help? What will make it better?” 

Sam looked into the human’s bright blue eyes for a moment, wide and so young compared with his own; he swallowed, a human reflex his vessel had a habit of doing when he felt overwhelmed with strange, alien _emotion_ that caused his weakened grace to shiver and twist. To do so made him feel vulnerable, and fragile – made him feel human. Angels didn’t need looking after. Angels were strong, and proud, and they wouldn’t ever accept help. 

But he wasn’t like the others - he'd always known that, though Dean had always tried to convince him otherwise; shield both him and them from the truth. He remembered the harsh words of the other Guardians – how they’d told him he was heading down a dangerous path, and that he was surely soon to fall, as they plucked from his wings a feather for each deadly sin. _At least Lucifer was strong, and beautiful_ , they’d said. _You are pathetic, and weak, and you’re not worthy to protect your charge._

But as he looked at Castiel, holding his breath and watching him consider his answer with apprehension, he decided he didn’t care what they thought: no, the only person whose opinion mattered – aside from God and perhaps Dean – was right in front of him. A person who loved him for who he was, and who had saved him; would never hurt him, as his brothers and sisters had hurt him . . . Castiel would never betray him like they had. They called themselves holy, and just – but Sam had never met anyone, or _anything_ as pure and divine as Castiel. 

“. . . It shall heal on its own, for the most part. But . . . Rest. Lying on my front, if possible,” Sam admitted, though he blushed slightly, embarrassed as he admitted his faults, and asked for help. But his shame melted away when he saw Castiel smile softly, and nod encouragingly.   
“. . . Would it help to minimise contact with your back?” He asked tentatively. He knew that angels were proud creatures – powerful, and vengeful, and self-sufficient – but the fact that Sam was opening up and allowing him to help showed a kind of trust he hadn’t experienced before from his Guardian. Sure, Castiel had trusted Sam to save him, and heal him, and protect him – but this was a landmark in their relationship, because for once, Sam was entrusting him with his wellbeing. 

And he was going to do his best to reward him for that show of faith. 

So, he got up off the couch, and helped Sam ever so gently to remove his suit jacket, shirt and tie, pulling them free and casting them off onto the floor. He hoped Sam would never have use for them again; he didn’t want him to see his superiors again, if their judgement, and hatred from Sam’s fellow Guardians, were the only result. 

He coaxed Sam onto his front, his head laid on a pillow which his strong arms hugged tightly. His muscles were still twitching and tight; his back was much redder around the shoulder-blades, though there were no other physical manifestations of the damage to Sam’s wings that Castiel's human eyes could see. 

Castiel put the television on, watching any old show quietly as he sat on the floor in front of the couch, absent-mindedly carding his hand through Sam’s hair to calm him down. 

Then, in a show of trust Castiel would never have expected in a million years, Sam truly relaxed; for the first time ever, the human heard his Guardian’s breathing even out and deepen; he saw him sleep, his face finally completely expressionless in his slumber. 

For the first time, Sam allowed Castiel to watch over him.


End file.
